


a silent city

by orphan_account



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Forbidden Love, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:30:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every time it rains, I'll come say hi."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a silent city

**Author's Note:**

> [[song inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zoZfFcBAwJU)]

Hongbin laid his head on the bar top; a throbbing had begun in his temples, just behind his eyes. He’d drank too much, muddled thoughts; trying to open his eyes, but it hurt too much. The bar was empty save for the bartender who was cleaning glasses on the other side of the counter, staring hard at him; trying to say something, but it didn’t make sense; coherency had left Hongbin a long time ago. A song started to play, something upbeat; he loved it the moment the music reached him, and up on his feet, legs shaking—they were hardly able to carry him, but still he tried. Weaving through webs of confusion, head pounding; he stopped at the jukebox and rested his tired head to the cold, polished chrome. Inhaling, he felt his body grow heavy—and did he fall asleep? He thought so.. at least for a second, but then an arm was around his waist and a hand was holding his, guiding him back to the bar where he sat, swaying in his chair, wondering when the lights had gotten so dim. Had they always been that way?  
  
'I'm gonna close up for the night,' a voice said—the bartender. He was standing so close Hongbin could smell his cologne, could see the exhaustion in his eyes. His hair was long, pulled back; and when he smiled, Hongbin simply stared.  
  
'Did you hear me?' he asked.  
  
'Yeah, yeah—' rubbing his eyes and watching as blotches of color appeared in front of them; they covered the bartender's face, the whole bar. 'I.. sorry.'  
  
'Do you know where you're going?'  
  
'Right over there.' He pointed toward the door but was actually pointing at the wall; and the bartender started to laugh softly. 'Somewhere. Close. Thirteenth ave?' He rubbed at his face again and never noticed that he had rested his head on the bartender's shoulder. He also didn't notice when the bartender shifted away.  
  
'Do you have a ride?' and it was then Hongbin decided this guy asked too many questions; and still he had to think about it— _did_  he have a ride? No. No, he didn’t. The only reason he was in this small, dark, cruddy bar was because it was the closest place to his flat.  
  
Hongbin murmured, ‘No.’  
  
'You live close enough. I'll walk you,' and as Hongbin tried to tell him that wouldn't be necessary, he added: 'I don't need you getting hit by a car out there, alright? It'd be bad for business. Here—' he gave Hongbin a cigarette— 'go sober up outside. I'll be there in a minute.'  
  
So: with his back to the side of the building, Hongbin tried to light his cigarette, failed, tried again. The wind was blowing cold against his face, a soft drizzle of rain that picked up as the minutes ticked by. He closed his eyes and listened to the early morning traffic. There was still time before daylight, a few hours at least, but it felt so much later. Why had he let himself get so out of hand? He stared at the burning end of the cigarette, watched the smoke rise in tendrils; and thought of Wonsik and his blonde white hair, his bright smile; the way he used to nuzzle his face into Hongbin’s neck and—he sighed.  
  
A jingle of keys, the bar door being locked. ‘Rough night?’ Bartender asked. His hair was pulled down, tousled in the back; he combed his fingers through it. ‘Bad breakup or something?’  
  
Hongbin looked to him cautiously, felt his face grow warm. ‘Is it obvious?’  
  
He took the cigarette when Hongbin offered it and all across his fingers, minus his thumbs, platinum and gold and silver rings shone under the streetlights. ‘A bit. Not a lot of people leave this wasted unless they have a reason to, you know? Anyway, sorry for your—’ he shrugged— ‘loss? I hope you feel a little better now at least. I don’t think I’ve seen someone as thin as you drink that much.’  
  
'I'm not  _that_  thin.’  
  
'Sure you're not.'  
  
Hongbin watched him smoke, the cold wind and cigarette fumes mingling together to create a cloud of breath between them. He asked, ‘What’s your name?’  
  
'Taekwoon.'  
  
'Hongbin.'  
  
'You ready to go home?'  
  
'It's raining.'  
  
'Don't worry.' Taekwoon shrugged out of his coat—a grey jacket that zipped in the front and smelled of liquor. He held it above his own head, motioned for Hongbin to come closer. 'Walk fast, huh? There's cars. They might not see us.'  
  
Hongbin wrapped an arm around Taekwoon’s waist, wondering what his obsession with vehicles was about—thought about asking, but thought better of it. Besides he was having a hard enough time trying to keep up with Taekwoon’s long strides. Scurrying through puddles, wet shoes, wet socks; he was sure he’d have a fever in the morning. And then at the apartments so much sooner than he’d thought they’d be and having to wonder if he had been a lot closer to home than he originally thought, or if Taekwoon had only dragged him a lot quicker than he would have moved on his own. And given the ache in his arm from holding on.. he’d bet money on the latter.  
  
Standing under the coverlet of the apartment complex, at the bottom of a stone staircase that led to the first flooring, Hongbin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Taekwoon lit another cigarette.  
  
'Do you wanna..' and he pointed a thumb over his shoulder. 'You can come up for a minute if you'd like to.' But he could tell by the way Taekwoon immediately looked at his feet that he'd asked the wrong thing; and so hurriedly Hongbin turned on his heels, said: 'Never mind. Never mind—' but he was still drunk—too drunk—and he tripped over his own feet, knees crashing down on the cold, hard steps.  
  
Taekwoon’s arm around him again, helping him up, not letting go. ‘I’ll come with you,’ and with his cigarette stubbed out but still in his mouth, Taekwoon all but carried him up the stairs.  
  
Inside it was warm, though the windows had been left open; rain splattered through the empty pane, the carpet beneath damp and soggy; and the wail of car horns and revving engines from the street below. People on their way to the morning commute just as Hongbin was barely falling into bed. He lay with his hands above his head, toes curled in his socks; he was so cold.  
  
'Do you wanna listen to music? Or watch something.. I have a couple movies.' He sat up only to find Taekwoon crouched in front of him, cigarette behind his ear. He was staring hard at Hongbin.  
  
'Music's fine. I won't be here long enough for a movie.'  
  
Hongbin nodded, reached for the iPod on his nightstand; and played the first song he landed on: College’s  _Une Ville Silencieuse_. Then back on the bed, sat on the edge of the mattress with his knees together. Taekwoon was only inches away; Hongbin wondered what he was thinking, but only wondered for a second because suddenly he was pushing his face close to Hongbin’s, eyes narrowed, challenging.  
  
He said, ‘I’m not gonna kiss you. Just so you know.’  
  
And Hongbin, a little breathless, ‘Okay.’  
  
Taekwoon moved to the bed, sat beside him with his hands in his lap.  
  
'Can I, uh—' Hongbin cleared his throat. He hadn't thought about kissing Taekwoon, not really, but maybe if it had happened he'd be alright with it—but it was only now he understood how bad it must have sounded to invite him inside. Drunk and cold and stumbling over himself. Hongbin groaned inwardly. 'Can I ask why not?'  
  
'It wouldn't be right.'  
  
'Oh. You're straight?'  
  
'No.'  
  
'Married?'  
  
Taekwoon snorted a laugh. ‘No.’  
  
'But.. there's someone.' It wasn't a question. Hongbin flung himself back on the bed, stared at the ceiling. 'That's alright. I didn't bring you here to do anything like that.'  
  
'Good.' Taekwoon hovered over him. 'I like this song.'  
  
'Yeah?' and staring at each other with the rain still falling, the drone of the music, Taekwoon's soft breathing—Hongbin felt a shift in his stomach akin to excitement; it was almost painful. He scrubbed at his face, felt the dip in the mattress as Taekwoon lay beside him; shoulder to shoulder, both watching the ceiling. 'I like it too.'  
  
Twenty minutes later after Hongbin had fallen asleep, his hand blindly moving to rest on Taekwoon’s stomach, Taekwoon didn’t push him away but rather drifted off as well.  
  
-  
  
He was gone in the morning, Hongbin hadn’t expected anything more. But in the bathroom: a note left on the lip of the sink. It said:  _msg me if you want me to come by again_ —and scribbled beneath it: Taekwoon’s number.  
  
Hongbin sat for a long time, note in one hand, phone in the other, before he finally sent a text. All it asked was:  _Tonight?_  
  
-  
  
It was raining again when Taekwoon stopped by; faint knock on the door like he wasn’t sure if it was the right apartment; and standing there soaked with a bag of take-out under his arm, Hongbin felt the same pang of anticipation swell inside him.  
  
He asked, ‘What is that?’ pointing at the bag.  
  
'Food. You mentioned you weren't feeling well, so I thought this might make it better.'  
  
They ate on the bed with their legs crossed and the television on. The news was playing but neither of them were paying any mind.  
  
'Why do you have so many books?' Taekwoon asked. He nudged a paperback with his toes. 'They're everywhere.'  
  
'I work at a library. Sometimes we get new copies to replace old ones. So I just..'  
  
'Take them.'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
Taekwoon smiled. ‘You shouldn’t steal from your job.’  
  
'It isn't  _stealing_!’ Hongbin hated how hot his face felt. ‘They’re going to throw them out anyway. Or, like, donate them; and some are really messed up so it’s like I’m doing them a favor. Who wants some old, beat-up book anyway.’  
  
Taekwoon kept smiling, faint curve of his mouth; Hongbin wanted to slap the look off his face, but he was smiling too. He didn’t say anything when Taekwoon started rummaging through the room for more paperbacks, flipping through them leisurely, reading a few pages before setting one book down for another.  
  
Hongbin told him: ‘You can take a couple if you want. It’s alright. I’ve read them all.’  
  
'I'll bring them back.' Looking up from his hands, looking hard at Hongbin, Taekwoon asked: 'Are you feeling any better?'  
  
'Not really.'  
  
'Want me to get you something? Tylenol? It might help.'  
  
Smiling, Hongbin shook his head; and played his music again, muting the television. He was curled up at the end of the bed like a cat, shirt riding up, arms stretched over his head. He didn’t miss the way Taekwoon’s eyes lingered on his stomach.  
  
'Taekwoon, can I ask you something?'  
  
'Sure.'  
  
'Why did you wanna come back here?'  
  
He mumbled as if he didn’t want to say it at all: ‘Because I like you.’  
  
'Should you like me, though?'  
  
'No, but I do. And I was a little worried. You weren't exactly in the best condition last I saw you.' Quick little shrug as if to say  _It’s not a big deal_ , but the faint flush on his cheeks told Hongbin otherwise.  
  
'I guess I wasn't. Kind of embarrassed about that, actually.'  
  
'You shouldn't be.'  
  
Hongbin felt stunned by the sincerity in Taekwoon’s voice. ‘Still. I’m surprised I didn’t, like, cry on you or something.’  
  
'Do you wanna talk about it?'  
  
'Do you really wanna hear about it?'  
  
'I'm curious.'  
  
Hongbin uncrossed his legs to fold them beneath himself; stared at his hands. ‘It’s nothing really. Just.. I loved him and he didn’t love me. Simple as that.’ But thinking about Wonsik again and remembering the way they used to sleep: Wonsik with his arm around Hongbin’s shoulders, lying on his back; Hongbin’s head on his chest—it made him shiver, just a little. The press of emotion was at the back of his throat.  
  
'We've all been through it before, right?' There was a quiver in his voice that he didn't like very much, but before he could swallow it away Taekwoon was moving toward him—and moving fast. One hand on the back of Hongbin's neck; he thought for a moment they were going to kiss until he remembered what Taekwoon had told him. And on the bed, their foreheads pressed together: Taekwoon's eyes were shut, faint tremble in his fingers, breath a little too shallow to pass for calm. They stayed like this for a while, until Hongbin chanced a touch. He put a hand on the side of Taekwoon's neck; felt him flinch.  
  
'His loss,' was all he said. Then up and on his feet, moving away from the bed to stand by the window. He put a cigarette in his mouth. 'I'll strike a deal with you. Every time it rains, I'll come say hi.' He started to pick up the to-go containers, putting them back in the bag they came in; fixing the blankets on the bed, the sheets. 'Sound alright?'  
  
'Only when it rains?'  
  
He nodded, moved toward the door. ‘It’s lonelier when it rains. I’ll keep you company.’ Then he was stepping in his shoes and Hongbin: crawling to his feet, shaking his head.  
  
'It's still raining out. You can't leave yet.' And when Taekwoon's forehead creased, when he looked toward the window, Hongbin added: 'It might rain all night.'  
  
With a smirk, Taekwoon left the bag by the door, moved away from his shoes. ‘Yeah, it might.’  
  
'You'll stay?'  
  
Another nod, this one smaller. Moving awkwardly around each other, not sure where to go or where to sit. Hongbin settled for the middle of the bed, deciding to give as much room to Taekwoon as he could, but as he brought his knees to his chest, Taekwoon was scooting closer to him anyway. He touched his hand to Hongbin’s cheek.  
  
'You're cold,' and without saying anything else he pulled back the blankets, shoving lightly at Hongbin's shoulder. Ten minutes later and they were lying side by side, Taekwoon with a book open in front of him; Hongbin's head on his shoulder, reading silently to himself. It didn't matter that Taekwoon turned the pages without waiting for him, that he didn't hold the book a little more toward Hongbin so he could see better; he didn't care about any of that—because he'd learned Taekwoon had a habit of whispering the words to himself, inadvertently reading aloud in a voice so soft, so comforting, it had Hongbin nodding off only minutes later.  
  
-  
  
It was three days later when the text came. Hongbin, lying in bed, watching some awful made-for-television movie, reached for his phone knowing perfectly well the soft patter on his windows could only be rain.  
  
 _tkwn (00:03)  
come to the bar. i’ll buy you a drink_  
  
So: sat at the bar top with a fresh beer in hand, Hongbin tapped his fingers to the music—something slow, electronic. He thought about checking the title on the jukebox, but the bar was empty and Taekwoon was leaned over the counter with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair in a ponytail, smiling like he knew a secret; Hongbin didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to.  
  
'Since it's only us tonight,' he began, 'could you drink with me?'  
  
A gleam in Taekwoon’s eyes that was faint; his smile widening a fraction of an inch. He poured them both a shot without a word, downed it without waiting for Hongbin, then poured another. If he was trying to catch up he was doing it too quickly, and Hongbin was concerned but only for a second. After all: it was only them. Then to the jukebox to find the song that had played before, except the words were all mixed up, and he couldn’t read the titles anyway, he was laughing too much.  
  
'Stop tapping the glass,' Taekwoon muttered in his ear. His chin was resting on Hongin's shoulder.  
  
'Sorry, sorry,' smiling at nothing at all. He turned his back to the jukebox, chest almost flush against Taekwoon. 'Are you drunk?' he asked. 'I mean, you look a little peaky; and I feel, I feel wild right now.'  
  
Taekwoon eyebrows shot up. ‘Wild?’ and he laughed even harder. ‘What the hell, Hongbin.’  
  
'Yes. Wild,’ and he knew why Taekwoon was laughing, but he didn’t know why he had rested his head on his shoulder, but Hongbin liked it. ‘What’s the big deal?’  
  
'I think it's time to close up, huh?'  
  
'One more shot,' he pouted. 'Please?' and was surprised when Taekwoon didn't bother to put up a fight. And out into the cold with his hands cupped around his mouth, breathing into his fists, shivering. He was happy to see it was still raining.  
  
'Gonna walk me home?' he asked.  
  
'Of course. Get over here.' Taekwoon's jacket covered the both of them much like the first time as they walked slowly across the street; deserted and cold, sallow streetlights reflecting from the asphalt. Not a car in sight. And with both arms around Taekwoon's middle, knowing now how fast he should walk, Hongbin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling—he didn't know why he was smiling in the first place. But Taekwoon was warm against him, and he liked how hard his chest felt beneath his shirt.  
  
Laughing as they reached the complex, stumbling over each other; all but shoving their way into Hongbin’s apartment; and it was warm in there except for the bathroom with its open window. Hongbin headed straight for the bed and its mountain of pillows, ready to crawl beneath the covers—he was afraid he’d get sick again—and Taekwoon right behind him, hand on Hongbin’s waist; stepping on the heels of his feet, making him trip.  
  
'I gotcha,' Taekwoon said but he was swaying too much to get a good hold on Hongbin, walking all over each other, limbs tangled—too drunk to even get across the bedroom; and finally collapsing on the bed in a heap. Hongbin, with Taekwoon's arm pinned under him, still laughing—and certain that he'd be sick if he couldn't stop. But all too soon: he sobered up.  
  
Taekwoon, on top of him, with his breath ghosting over his face, smelling faintly of beer and cigarettes; eyes bloodshot and still smiling, but small now as if embarrassed, ashamed—and the excitement Hongbin thought he’d gotten rid of came back. Painful twist of butterflies in his stomach, sweat on his forehead, eyes wide and serious; he felt like something was wrong—that  _they_  were wrong—but it only made him want it more. Whole body thrumming with a need he wasn’t used to, a feeling that wasn’t familiar right away, but as Taekwoon leaned in and Hongbin thought—for the hundredth time—that they were going to kiss, he knew it was anxiety that was swallowing him whole.  
  
Taekwoon rested his forehead to Hongbin’s; nose nuzzled against his cheek. He whispered, ‘You’re on my arm,’ but when Hongbin didn’t move, Taekwoon didn’t seem to mind.  
  
'I, uh—' and Hongbin shifted beneath him, heard the catch in Taekwoon's throat; and felt a line of cold plunge into his stomach.  
  
'Music?' Hongbin asked desperately; and before Taekwoon could answer he wiggled away, pushed lightly at his chest. He crawled up the bed to reach his iPod, but as soon as the music started—something by Futurecop!, slow and sad and not at all what he wanted right now—he turned to find Taekwoon on the bed beside him, hand reaching out. He cupped the back of Hongbin's neck, held him close.  
  
Hongbin felt his own hands begin to shake, and so wound them together in his lap, held them between his knees. ‘What are yo—’ he cleared his throat— ‘Are you going to.. uh, to—’  
  
'No.'  
  
'Then, what?'  
  
Quietly, only glancing once into Hongbin’s eyes, Taekwoon came closer; and touched the tips of his fingers to Hongbin’s mouth. He traced his lips before pressing his fingers flush against them; and slowly, hesitantly, Taekwoon brought his own mouth to rest on the backs of his fingers. Indirect kiss with a hand between them; not really touching, but able to pretend that they were.  
  
Hongbin let his eyes close, let himself lean forward. He felt Taekwoon’s nose brush against his own, felt his throat tighten up. Hands still shaking, he pushed them through the back of Taekwoon’s hair, grabbed two handfuls; melted into him.  
  
Taekwoon muttered softly: ‘I can’t touch you.’  
  
'I don't want you to,' and Hongbin pulled back, bottom lip between his teeth. He asked, 'But could you..' and touched his neck—the same place Wonsik had laid his head so many times, 'put your head here?' and in an instant Taekwoon was pressed against him, arms tightly wound around him, face nuzzled into his neck; and it'd been so long since Hongbin had felt so close to someone, to have a body against his own that was warm and welcoming; he started to shake.  
  
Lying on his back with Taekwoon half on him, half on the bed, a hand in the side of Hongbin’s hair, playing with it like he’d been doing it for years, like he knew exactly what Hongbin wanted. Blunt nails against his scalp, gooseflesh running up both arms; Hongbin shivered.  
  
'We can't do this all the time,' Taekwoon said.  
  
'Why not?' but Hongbin already knew why; and so closed his eyes, tightening his arms around Taekwoon's shoulders. He'd enjoy it while he could.  
  
And come morning, the rain had stopped falling; a blue, cloudless sky lay overhead and Hongbin by the window, chewing his nails.  
  
'What if it doesn't rain for a while?' he asked.  
  
Taekwoon, with his shoes on, was pulling a hoodie over his head. ‘Be patient,’ was all he said. But before the door was shut behind him, he poked his head back in. ‘If I don’t respond to your texts right away, or.. for a few days, don’t be upset. Okay?.’  
  
Hugging himself, still by the window. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ and he smiled, but it was forced.  
  
-  
  
A week passed and still no rain. He’d sent Taekwoon a dozen texts, but only received one in return.  
  
 _tkwn (03:31)  
I miss you too, bin-ah_  
  
He’d read the text, and put his phone away; then caught himself reaching for it again only to curl onto his side with his face in the pillows. Late nights spent reading books he’d read a dozen times already, watching movies with the violence edited out; and if it wasn’t Taekwoon he was thinking of, it was Wonsik. He couldn’t win.  
  
-  
  
Two weeks; and he couldn’t take it.  
  
So out into the cold at a quarter to one in the morning, knowing the bar would be deserted or at least thinning out. Jacket zipped with the hood pulled up; and were those thunderheads to the east or just wishful thinking? Hongbin stared, but only for a second; then crossing the street and into the bar—it was much more crowded than he had expected. Another boy was behind the counter along with Taekwoon. After all: it was Saturday night.  
  
He sat at the bar top and asked for a beer. The new bartender didn’t even look at him, simply set the glass on the table and went to help someone else. Sipping his drink, not really wanting it, he watched as Taekwoon poured shots for a group of women, flashing the same smile Hongbin had seen so often before; and in his chest: a fluttering that made him uncomfortable.  
  
The music was loud, the lights dim; he hated it now. The bar was suffocating and so much different than the intimacy of his apartment. All he wanted was Taekwoon home with him, back under the blankets, fingers entwined; pretending it all meant nothing.  
  
He was finishing his beer when Taekwoon left the counter, slipping into the men’s room, and leaving his cup behind, Hongbin lingered by the jukebox to give Taekwoon time; then into the bathroom. He was quiet as he pushed the door open, keeping his back to the wall. Taekwoon was washing his hands, humming to himself.  
  
'Hi,' Hongbin said.  
  
He looked up, looked in the mirror; eyes narrowed but then softening as he saw Hongbin. ‘Hey.’  
  
He smiled. Hongbin smiled back.  
  
'You shouldn't be here.' Taekwoon was crowding him now, hand cupping his jaw. He sighed as Hongbin leaned against his palm, lips parted and pressed to the heel of Taekwoon's hand. 'I'll come by after work, how about that?'  
  
'Why can't I be here?'  
  
'It's not a good time.'  
  
Hongbin put his hand over Taekwoon’s, moved it away from his face. ‘I’ll leave you be tonight,’ he said as he walked back toward the door. ‘Just be my bartender.’ But Taekwoon wouldn’t budge. Hongbin felt the first pangs of regret. ‘Isn’t that what you are? A bartender.’  
  
It was a moment longer before Taekwoon nodded, though begrudgingly, and followed Hongbin back to the counter. He poured another beer, set a shot beside his glass; told him it was on the house. He wondered if Taekwoon was trying to get him drunk, but in the end: Hongbin was left with the second bartender, the one who wouldn’t look at him.  
  
It seemed Taekwoon was needed by everyone except for Hongbin—but really Hongbin needed him too. Probably the most.  
  
 _I should leave_ , he thought, _I should leave right now_ , but he ordered another drink instead. Ordered a lot, actually, until he was too drunk to even walk to the bathroom. It was near closing time, he could tell by the way the bar was emptying out, how the people left behind were so absolutely trashed they wouldn’t stop laughing, or falling, or laughing and falling all at once. And so many people had to be carried to their cars by Taekwoon, being touched by hands Hongbin wanted to touch right now; he wondered if he fell from his stool would Taekwoon pick him up? He didn’t think so. Not tonight.  
  
He gave the bartender his card, told him not to give him anything else to drink; and laid his head against his arms. He was half asleep already, eyes heavy, head swimming; and it was when the bartender put his card back on the counter that Hongbin heard a loud:  
  
‘ _Taekwoonie, I’m gonna go_.’  
  
And looking up: a boy with black hair cut short, long legs, long arms, long everything; he was tall and pretty, almost like a girl; and as he came toward Taekwoon, touching his shoulder, Hongbin knew. He was the someone.  
  
He tried not to look, but it was hard. A sinking in his gut like a stone cast in water and he, drowning beneath the weight; wanting to drown in his drink, but the cup was empty. Head in his hands, the oncoming wave of total drunkenness; he heard Taekwoon say: ‘I’ll be late tonight, so don’t stay up,’ and he said it so softly Hongbin didn’t know how he had heard.  
  
Pretty boy with his shoulders slumped; he trailed a finger over Taekwoon’s jaw, said: ‘When aren’t you late?’ He started talking about his parents, something about visiting them soon, but Hongbin stopped listening. Heart in his throat, sweat on his brow. Was Pretty Boy really so clueless or had he simply decided to not pay attention? Maybe it was a bit of both. And Hongbin thought he could ignore it, the twisting in his stomach, but then Pretty Boy put his hand on the counter and there, on his middle finger: a silver ring that matched perfectly with the one on Taekwoon’s index finger. Couple rings. Maybe not married, but the next best thing.  
  
He felt sick; and tried to get to his feet, but his knees buckled under him. Gripping the edge of the bar, he heard the boy tell Taekwoon:  _I think you need to help him_ ; and almost laughed.  
  
Then out onto the sidewalk with a cigarette in his mouth, it was torn by the filter but he lit it anyway; and it was raining, but he wished that it wasn’t. He stood beneath the awning, dry and freezing. He should have brought a thicker coat; he should have brought an umbrella; he should have never came.  
  
'I'll see you later,' Pretty Boy called to Taekwoon from the open door, car keys in hand; and because he was afraid he'd try to talk to him, Hongbin forced himself into the street, the cold, rain falling like a sheet, unable to see his hands in front of him.  
  
Staggering, he reached the sidewalk; he wasn’t crying, not really, but there was a lump in his throat that made his stomach ache; and when a hand landed on his elbow—Taekwoon’s hand; Hongbin knew, his touch had a certain weight to it—Hongbin shoved him away.  
  
‘ _Hongbin_ —' shouting over the rain, or maybe he was pissed off— ' _put your arm around me_.’  
  
'No.'  
  
'Jesus, Bin-ah—' and he grabbed Hongbin's hand with his own, pulled him under the jacket he had held above them. But at the apartments, beside the stone steps, his touch was gentle: hands on Hongbin's shoulders, touching his face, his neck.  
  
Hongbin didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to say anything at all; he was glad Taekwoon had come for him, but he didn’t know how long the feeling would last. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he turned toward the stairs; was halfway up them when he realized Taekwoon wasn’t following.  
  
Quick glance over his shoulder, hand on the railing. Hongbin stood still.  
  
'I'm not coming up,' Taekwoon said softly.  
  
 _Why not?_  sat on the tip of his tongue, but Hongbin knew why. Anger, so sudden it was almost startling, swelled in him. Back down the stairs, stomping his feet, feeling the alcohol in his head, in his body, overwhelming him. ‘Why did you walk me home, then?’ He wasn’t shouting, but he felt he might if Taekwoon said the wrong thing. ‘I was fine on my own. I left you back there, I left you alone and-and—why would you  _walk me home_?’  
  
'Hongbin.'  
  
'You didn't have to do that!'  
  
'Please don't be mad.' Then, before Hongbin could think of something to say: 'You knew about him.'  
  
His anger deflated, replaced by something that felt a lot like shame. ‘Yeah,’ and turning his back to Taekwoon because he had nothing else to say; and because he would have done anything to make him stay, at least for the night—not forever, though he wouldn’t have minded if he never left again. He felt his hands start to shake; clenched them into fists, and began up the stairs again, ready to leave Taekwoon behind.  
  
Then he was spinning so quickly he thought he was going to be sick—had he fallen? Did he take a wrong step somewhere? But it was Taekwoon pulling him by the arm, shoving him against the wall with his hand on Hongbin’s waist; and there, so suddenly, his mouth against Hongbin’s; kissing him hard, painfully.  
  
The cold returned to Hongbin’s stomach only now it covered every inch of him; gooseflesh on his arms, his legs; he was cold on the inside and warm on the outside, cheeks flushed deeply; and though he knew it was wrong—had been told by Taekwoon himself that it would be wrong—he still kissed back, and he kissed hard. Hands in Taekwoon’s hair, holding him close; open mouthed with his tongue pushed past Taekwoon’s lips, hearing a soft whimper and not knowing who had made it.  
  
Taekwoon angled his face away, but still Hongbin trailed his mouth over his cheek, his neck, his ear; holding onto him like he was the last person on earth and Hongbin couldn’t dare let him go. He was whining, could hear it in his own voice as he pleaded: ‘Hyung, don’t you like me?’  
  
And Taekwoon, growing stiff only to relax a moment later. He sighed so heavily Hongbin thought he was angry at first, but then his arms were lifting Hongbin up and to his chest; his face buried into Hongbin’s neck.  
  
'Of course I like you,' misery so apparent in his voice it made Hongbin's heart ache. 'I like you so much. Can't you tell?' and he pulled away, forehead resting to Hongbin's own. 'But you shouldn't care about that. You can do so much better.'  
  
Hongbin, whimpering, ‘No, no. I don’t wanna do better. I like you just fine—there’s nothing  _wrong_  with—’ his voice caught in his throat as Taekwoon took his face in his hand; caressing touch: palm cupping his cheek, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth.  
  
'Just because you're lonely,' Taekwoon said, 'doesn't mean you have to settle for a bad situation.'  
  
Unable to breathe, Hongbin was afraid he’d cry; but then Taekwoon was kissing him again, softly this time, a barely there touch of his mouth, gone too soon; and Hongbin reaching for him only to find that Taekwoon was already too far away.  
  
'Take care of yourself,' was the last thing he'd said; then slipping back into the rain, his jacket left on the bottom step. He hadn't looked twice at it.  
  
Hongbin stood watching the rain until his eyes began to burn and his legs started to tremble. He sat beside the jacket, the same one that smelled of liquor, now soaked with rainwater and stiff in some places like it needed a good cleaning—and how many times had they misused this jacket, anyway? Hongbin didn’t want to think about it; and so brought it to his chest, and rested his cheek to the cold wall.  
  
At least he’d been left with something.


End file.
